


Mercy Minute: The Buying of a Discount Elf

by SirSpectacular



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Begging, Burns, Cruelty, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dehumanization, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Master/Slave, Sexual Slavery, Torture, Whump, Whumptober 2020, elf abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSpectacular/pseuds/SirSpectacular
Summary: The story takes place in a modern world, where humanity has won the war against the vile demihuman menace, and enslaved their fallen enemies. Our protagonist, David, wants a slave of his own. The only problem? They're expensive. But David has just found out about a way to buy a slave for cheap. They might not be the best quality specimens, but for $500, it's a bargain he can't resist. He's a bit conflicted though, claiming his cheap slave requires participating in something rather heinous...Note: Rated "Explicit" for seriously fucked up gore and cruelty, not sexual content. (Not sure if I should use "Mature" tag instead, but better safe than sorry.)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Mercy Minute: The Buying of a Discount Elf

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at writing the Whump-iest Whump story that ever Whumped. It's pretty extreme, but has a somewhat happy ending for the main character, with plenty of Comfort to offset the Hurt.
> 
> It was also written for Whumptober 2020. The following story prompts apply to this work:
> 
> No 6. PLEASE… - Like, half the dialogue  
> No 7. I’VE GOT YOU – Support, Carrying  
> No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? - Should be obvious  
> No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN – Magical Healing  
> No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY – Forced to Beg  
> No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE - Basically the entire first half of the story.

“I feel like I’m joining some kind of cult,” I grumbled.

I was basically dressed in a Halloween costume: Red, figure concealing robes, trimmed with fancy gold embroidery, and with a drawn hood to make it extra-spooky. I also wore a blank, white plastic mask, covering everything but my eyes, with a few extra slits in the nose and mouth for breathing.

“It’s to help protect our clients’ anonymity, sir,” a human man, dressed in a fine tuxedo was helping me get my costume on straight.

“I’m just here because I heard I could buy a slave for cheap,” I grumbled.

“Indeed, sir. But there are others here who attend for the purposes of… ehm… _entertainment_. There are some who do not wish to have such interests broadly known.”

“Yeah, I guess this is one place where you wouldn’t want people recognizing your face and knowing you were a regular,” I replied.

The ‘Mercy Minute’ system was simple enough. It cost $500, and that included the slave registration fee, costume rental, and a single ‘Mercy Token,’ to exchange for a slave itself. I felt inside my pocket for the heavy brass coin, still there. It was thick, and about the size of a drink coaster, stamped with the image of a collar and chain, surrounded by a faux-roman olive wreath.

The idea here was simple. Gather a bunch of no-good demihuman slaves, doomed to execution and disposal for various reasons. They got all strapped in for their execution, and then received one final chance to plead their case for why they’d be better as a slave than a corpse. During that final minute of begging, any person in the audience could flash their Mercy Token and exchange it for the slave in question. If two masters showed an interest, then whoever flashed the token first would get the slave. If nobody was feeling merciful, then the slave would be executed on the spot in front of everybody and the next one would be brought on stage.

Every human in attendance got one and _only_ one token to spend during the event, and they didn’t actually need to spend it. They could save it and come back during the next event, three months later, if they didn’t find a slave that suited their fancy. They’d only pay a small fee of $40 to reattend.

Truth be told, the whole thing made me uncomfortable. It was all unnecessarily sadistic. Sure, I didn’t mind a bit of rough sex, a spanking here or there, some hair pulling, or whatnot. But this went way too far… this was _real death_ we were talking about. I struggled to imagine how people might enjoy this.

But I supposed the sadism was the point. It wasn’t only prospective masters and mistresses in attendance. Thousands of other slaves got to watch too, seeing for themselves what happened to slaves that didn’t sell well. It was instructional, supposedly.

There were of course some humans who came here year after year, to watch slaves die and nothing else. I wasn’t one of those. This was my first time coming here, and if I managed to get what I wanted, it would be the last.

$500 was insanely cheap for a slave. I’d wanted my own personal slave for a few years now, but I didn’t want to settle for something like a goblin. They grew fast, and bred quick. High supply, met low demand, and I could find a decent one, obedient and well trained, for between $1000 - $2000.

But they were kinda… creepy looking, to be honest. I wanted something a bit more human. Ideally, an elf. But elves were… kind of expensive. With even a _cheap_ elf costing upwards of $5000. High class, obedient, and well-trained elves could fetch much higher prices than that too, costing well into the tens of thousands. That was _new car_ territory, and not something I could justify financially with the career I had now.

But now, $500 could get me _any_ slave on offer here, a flat fee, regardless of species. I was sure there’d be goblins, orcs, and other common slave species, but there would always be valuable rare species mixed into the bunch, high demand ones, including elves, catgirls, and kobolds.

Honestly, I didn’t know why kobolds were so expensive. They looked like short little lizard things. I supposed they were strangely cute in their own way. Still, I wanted a female elf, or perhaps a cute beastkin girl, something I could invite into my bed without feeling weird.

Soon, I was dressed in my spooky costume, and led down a hallway to the event grounds.

The area was set up like a large indoor stadium, or colosseum. The stands were set up in a ring around the centre, and packed to capacity with shocked and terrified slaves of all types. The floor was textured stone tile, with fancy couches and designated seating areas scattered throughout. Along one edge of the ring was a bar serving refreshments. Drinks were extra, however. Not included in my $500 package.

At the centre of everything was a raised stage, visible from all angles, and a cordoned off waiting area below, where a hundred or so doomed creatures of all sorts stood in line for their turn. The stage itself contained the execution and begging area.

One of the things that kept the ‘watchers’ returning for event after event was the unique and dramatic methods of execution. No two events were the same. It took me a while to figure out what this event’s method was and how it worked.

It was horrifying.

It was basically a giant deep fryer. There were two levels to the device. At the upper level, accessible by stairs and a raised catwalk, was a tall square cage. It had a door at the back, and was barely larger than a locker. The cage had only vertical bars, slick with oily residue and with no crossbars to provide handholds. The cage’s floor was a metal grate, attached to a mechanism that could lower or raise it at will.

Beneath the cage’s movable floor, on the lower level of the stage, was a person-sized tank of very hot oil. Evidently, the floor could be lowered into the oil as slowly as the executioner desired, and the victim inside would get _fried_ to death from the feet up.

There was a single horizontal bar at the top of the cage for the victim to cling to and dangle from. They could delay the inevitable and beg for their life for as long as their grip held out. That was evidently the ‘mercy’ part of the Mercy Minute.

I swallowed my disgust.

I knew this sort of thing happened, people torturing slaves to death for fun, though nobody brought it up in polite company. Most slave owners were decent, not sadistic monsters. But obviously, there were people out there who enjoyed this sort of thing. Even if they were the overwhelming minority of slave owners, there was clearly a market for this form of entertainment, judging by the Mercy Minute’s apparent success.

Whatever, I didn’t have to approve. I’d just get my discount slave and go home, content that I’d saved at least _one_ of them from a needlessly cruel death.

I walked up to the crowd, standing around the stage. They were milling about loosely, clearly less of them than the total number of slaves being killed today. Even if everyone here had the goal of actually _getting a slave_ rather than just watching them die, not all of the slaves would be granted mercy today.

There was a window on the side of the oil tank, so spectators could watch the victim cook to death. The oil itself was mostly transparent, like a thin cooking oil. I’d walked in on an execution in progress, the corpse inside was once a male orc. It was now _very_ dead, body floating limp, with its head below the surface of the oil. Bubbles of boiling vapor sizzled and popped, seeping from between cracks in the skin, and floating up to the surface. Its skin would have been green originally, but now the orc’s flesh was whitish grey, like a well-done pork chop. The corpse was slightly withered, with the whitened skin separating and peeling away from the flesh beneath.

A man was standing on the stage, with the same white mask as me, but a black robe instead of a red one. He hit a switch, and the metal platform slowly moved up, pushing the corpse up out of the oil. The platform stopped when it was level with the upper half of the stage, just a few inches above the surface of the deadly oil.

A pair of humans, also with white masks and black robes, grabbed the orc with gloved hands, and pulled him out of the cage. They tossed him off the edge of the upper platform, into a metal dumpster located next to the tank. With no further delay, the next victim was brought up.

“Well, my most esteemed ladies and gentlemen, if you were holding out for something rare, then we have a treat for you. A male wolfkin, age 18.” the man next to the switch announced for us.

“Hmm… not bad.” A masked man standing near me quietly commented to his masked friend.

The wolfkin boy was… basically human, only, he had pointed wolflike ears, a bushy tail growing out from above his tailbone, and furry claws on both his hands and his feet, ending at the elbows and knees respectively. He was butt-naked, with the tiniest penis I’d ever seen. I tried to think back on what I knew about canine anatomy, which wasn’t much, admittedly. I suspected that if the boy popped a boner, his penis would grow out of its little sheath and appear normal sized. Supposedly, canine beatskin had fairly exotic penises, making them popular with the ladies and certain gentlemen as sex pets.

I wanted to get a personal slave, and the wolf-boy would do for a simple servant, but I also wanted somebody to serve me in sexual ways, and unfortunately for the boy, I wasn’t into men. I was only interested in buying a cute _female_ slave. Somebody else would have to rescue this one.

“Please… somebody buy me, I’ll be good,” the boy whimpered to the crowd.

“Oh dear,” the announcer said in mock sadness. “I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen, but the slave spoke before the Mercy Minute started. I’m afraid, since he broke the rules, there will be no mercy for him.”

“What?” the slave screamed in outrage. “No! No, please!”

The black-robed attendants roughly shoved the wolfkin boy into the cage. He screamed and thrashed, biting and clawing for his life, but the attendants had some sort of armored suit and gloves beneath their robes, probably Kevlar or something similar. The boy’s struggles were for naught, and he was soon locked inside the cage.

The attendant pushed a button, and the cage floor started lowering into the oil. The boy yelped, and jumped up, desperately clinging to the horizontal bar at the top of the cage.

“Please…” the boy whimpered, “somebody buy me. I’ll be good, I’ll be the best slave ever.”

The man next to me held up his brass token. “Hey, he’s kinda cute, can I get him anyway?” he called out.

“I’m very sorry sir, there will be no mercy for this one,” the announcer said regretfully.

 _“Noooo! Please!”_ the wolfkin boy screamed in despair. “Please, I’ll be yours! I’ll be good!”

The man next to me grunted in annoyance and put his token away. “Probably for the best anyway. Doesn’t seem like a good listener,” he muttered.

 _“Nooo! Sir, please!”_ the boy whined.

“Then you should have followed the rules, you damn mutt!” the man snapped back.

The wolfkin boy howled with despair, crying and sobbing loudly as he clung to the metal bar. By now the platform had reached the lowest point, a fall would completely submerge him in the oil.

I sighed and looked away, finding a nearby couch and sitting down. I didn’t want to watch this.

The boy’s cries and whimpers continued for another two minutes or so, as he dangled over the oil and clung desperately to the safety of the bar. I recalled that many beastkin were known for their strength and endurance. Wolfkin specifically? I wasn’t sure. Still, no matter how strong he was, it was only a matter of time.

There was a final howl of fear and despair, then the sound of splashing. What followed, was an inhuman screech of agony that would haunt my dreams for years to come. Screeches, screams, splashes, and thrashing followed, continuing for an entire horrifying minute before the boy, mercifully, passed out from the pain and sunk to the bottom of the tank.

The executioner attendant let him cook for a minute or two longer, to make sure he was fully dead. Then, the movable floor was raised up again, the corpse removed and tossed away, and the next victim brought up.

I looked up at the stage. This one was female, at least. That was a start. But she was a goblin. She was short, about three feet tall, almost childlike if it wasn’t for her _very_ womanly figure. She had strange proportions, with a curvy figure, big head, huge eyes, and a wide mouth filled with sharp teeth.

Did I want to save her? I clenched my jaw and looked away. That wolfkin had probably been worth $10,000, but I could buy a bargain bin goblin for $1,000. Even if I felt sorry for her, she was sort of a waste of my brass token. Plus… I didn’t really want a goblin servant anyway. Sorry girl, I wanted to hold out for something better. Maybe someone else would rescue you?

She behaved, and didn’t start begging until the cage was closed. That was apparently the signal to begin. She didn’t seem to speak a word of English, jabbering away in the screechy goblin language, but she was doing her best to highlight her selling features. Grabbing her boobs, bouncing them, turning around to show us all her butt.

Nobody was interested. She only got about thirty seconds, not even a full minute, before the platform started lowering. She screeched, and jumped for the bar at the roof of the cage, but her grip slipped, and she landed with her feet in the boiling oil.

She howled in agony, and leapt for the bar again. She missed it again, splashing back down in the oil, reaching her knees now. The splash covered the rest of her body with boiling droplets that seared into her flesh. More screams. She leaped again, and fell again, this time the oil reached her waist. There was no scream, just a pathetic croak. She finally fainted from the pain, falling into the oil and immersing the rest of herself fully.

Unfortunately, the poor goblin girl regained consciousness again a few seconds later. She kicked and thrashed, unable to find the oil’s surface, lost and disoriented in a world of all-encompassing fiery pain. She soon passed out again, and this time she didn’t wake up.

I sighed and stopped watching. A few minutes later, her corpse had been extracted and tossed away, like the others.

After her, there was another goblin. A male this time. Nobody saved him. He died in agony.

“Next up, my most esteemed guests, we have a very special treat, an elder high elf, age 217,” the announcer said.

The next victim caught my attention. High elves were probably the most humanlike species of all demis. They were pale skinned like northern Caucasian humans, with light hair and exotic colored eyes. This one was blonde, with purple eyes. Like all elves, she was slender and a little bit short compared to the average human. This one looked to be about five feet tall, and had small breasts and a slender figure, as was typical of her species. Despite being older than my grandmother, she was pretty cute.

She didn’t need to be forced into the cage, she stepped inside with her shoulders back and head held high.

“A pox upon you all!” she called out, with a powerful proud voice and eyes filled with venom and hatred.

Well, so much for that. I wouldn’t be buying _this_ elf… She was clearly one of the proud ones, the sort that didn’t break or submit no matter what you did to them. Pretty, though she may be, I did _not_ want something like that living in my house. She’d strangle me in my sleep.

It also didn’t matter anyway. She’d spoken before the cage was closed, so that sort of made my choice redundant. There would be no mercy for her.

“I am _no one’s_ slave,” she announced. “I will die with dignity.”

I could respect that. I decided to watch this one, not look away. Somehow it felt right, like granting her a final request.

The elf did not grab the bar above her head. She clenched her fits and kept them at her side, obviously fighting the temptation to delay her own death. She glared at the humans standing below her with hatred. The floor grate started to move. The sizzling oil touched her feet.

Her eyes went wide, her confidence shattered in an instant. It must have hurt more than she expected.

 _“Aaaaaaegh!”_ she let out a horrible wail of agony as the pain burned through her prideful stoicism.

She gripped the vertical bars in front of her, on the side of the cage, and smashed her head against them. A trail of blood leaked down her face. She continued to scream, and crash her head against he bars, over and over again. The oil was up to her knees before she finally succeeded in knocking herself out. Her body fell limp into the oil, and cooked. She didn’t wake up again.

I sighed. I needed a drink. I went over to the bar, spending $15 to buy a ludicrously overpriced glass of red wine. I chuckled bitterly. The slaves were cheap, so _this_ must have been where all the _real_ profit came from.

Next in line to be tortured to death was another goblin, and then an orc, both burning to death, begging for a rescue that never came.

A kobold was next on stage, a female… probably. She was slightly taller than the goblins, around four feet, had a long lizardlike snout, with backward sweeping horns, and a thick reptilian tail. Her scales were red. She had absolutely no tits to speak of, not even nipples, though she had a feminine curve to her hips and no visible genitals between her legs. They were probably protected, tucked away beneath the scales somehow.

She waited until she was allowed, hopped up and clung to the horizontal bar.

“Kobold is good!” it squeaked. “Kobold is not bad! It will do things. It will fetch things. It will clean things.”

The platform beneath the Kobold started moving down, the kobold clung to the bar even tighter. It yelped in terrified panic.

“K-kobold is girl! It will bend over! It will lick dirty places. _It will lick ALL the dirty places!_ It will not bite anyone. _It will never bite anyone! It will absolutely NOT!”_

The kobold was strangely cute. She also seemed submissive. She would probably make for a reliable servant. I wasn’t sure about using her for sex though, despite her apparent willingness, she was a bit too far from human for my liking. Also, seeing the sharp flesh-rending teeth in her mouth, I was more than a little hesitant about letting her lick _anywhere near_ my ‘dirty places.’

“I’ll take her!” someone also in the crowd said, holding up the brass token. The executioner immediately hit another button, causing the platform to raise up again quickly, much faster than it normally moved. The oil splashed as the metal grate broke the surface, becoming a solid floor again. The kobold didn’t trust it, continuing to cling to the bar desperately. That was probably smart, I’d wager the metal was still hot.

The handlers opened the cage door, and pried the reluctant kobold off the bar. They put her back on the raised catwalk, and snapped a metal collar and leash around her neck, before guiding her back down the staircase to the main stage level.

The man who’d held up the token left the crowd, and went to the side of the stage to pick up his prize. A short while later, the attendants handed the kobold’s leash to him. The kobold herself was kneeling and shivering on the ground, making a big show of groveling and kissing her master’s shoes.

“Kobold is good. See? No need for cooking. Want lick dirty place now?” the kobold offered.

“Later, my pet,” the man replied warmly, “Come along now.”

I smiled as he led the kobold away. At least _someone_ got rescued today.

A few more slaves came and went, nothing I wanted. Most were killed, I was getting used to the sound of their screaming, learning to tune it out.

There was another beastkin boy, a catboy this time. He was like the wolfboy, except a cat. The ears were just as pointy, but the tail was long and slender. Like the wolfkin, the hands were furry paws that reached the elbow, and the feet were the same. And the penis… the less said about it the better. Cat penises were _weird as fuck._

This one didn’t die screaming. He was bought by a red robed figure that had a feminine-sounding voice. The attendants delivered her terrified, shivering prize, and she gently patted him on the head as he kneeled submissively at her feet. She led him to a far away couch in a quiet corner, and set him on her lap, giving his body a thorough inspection. He submitted to her invasive prodding without complaint.

I was exhausted. It wasn’t like standing in the crowd was hard, but this was an _emotional_ exhaustion. I was getting tired of seeing creatures beg for their lives, only to be denied and die screaming. I took a deep breath, five more… I’d watch five more demihumans die before giving up on this and going home. Fuck… I was already done my wine. I needed another drink.

Next up, was a female orc. She had a prettier face than most orcs, less a snarling tusk monster, and more like a brutish human. She’d still be best described as ‘handsome’ rather than ‘pretty,’ though. Her body was toned and muscular, standing well over six feet tall. She was definitely not my type. I expected her to die like every other orc I’d seen so far, and I was surprised when someone actually bought her. He was a smaller fellow, almost a head shorter than the orc woman. She blushed with embarrassment as she knelt in front of him, probably not used to submitting to someone smaller than her, but obviously not stupid enough to piss off her merciful rescuer. I wished the kid the best of luck training her and keeping her in line, he’d probably need it.

Next up, another goblin died.

And then, another elf was on the chopping block. I perked up and paid attention.

“Ahh ladies and gentleman, we have a _dark_ elf. This one is a dark elven novice, young for her species, only age 21. Are any of you feeling charitable enough to rescue a _dark_ elf?”

Coloring aside, the dark elf shared a lot of features in common with the high elf I’d seen before. She was the same height, around five feet. She was a bit skinnier than the high elf, with slender girlish hips and tiny breasts that looked to be barely an A cup. Her long, pointed ears poked out from the side of her head, stretching out three or four inches.

She looked far more exotic than the high elf, however. While high elves could be mistaken for humans at a casual glance, the dark elf could not. Her skin was a pale grey, with a faint purplish hue. Her eyes were crimson red, and her hair was a pure ghostly white.

Unlike the high elf who stood with poise and confidence, the dark elf girl hunched over, making herself look small. She stared into the open cage, and sobbed quietly, tears in her eyes. She looked defeated.

She looked at us, her potential saviors with dead soulless eyes. She was someone who wanted mercy but clearly didn’t expect to get it. Yet, there was the tiniest spark of hope in her expression, as if her survival wasn’t _completely_ impossible. She refused to enter the cage on her own, but it was only a token resistance. She didn’t need much more than a shove from the nearby attendant before she staggered listlessly inside.

“Let’s see if _this_ one’s too proud to beg,” a man in the crowd chuckled derisively.

The elf held onto the horizontal bar, and shivered in terror. The cage door shut.

“Mercy…” she whimpered quietly, her tongue struggling to form the unfamiliar English words, “Is give Mercy, please…”

The cage floor started lowering almost immediately, even the executioner seemed eager to kill her. The elf shut her eyes and quivered in hopeless despair.

“Nooo,” she whined, “Is give mercy… mercy please…”

“Stupid thing can’t even speak English,” one of the people in the crowd chuckled.

Her head sank, her chest heaving as she struggled to contain her crying, “Is not bad elf… can use… give mercy… can use…”

She had a right to feel hopeless, I supposed. Dark elves were just as pretty, but not prized like high elves. Or rather, they were prized for only one thing, as beautiful screaming torture toys. Killing your own slave was perfectly legal, but frowned upon by polite society. The exceptions were goblins, who generally bred like rats, and dark elves. Even if someone bought her, she probably wouldn’t have a very long or pleasant life to look forward to.

There was a bit of history behind that. The dark elves were one of the first to attack humanity, back when our worlds first converged. They had a particularly cruel culture, and didn’t spare human civilians. In fact, many were killed in downright horrifying ways. There were pictures of the aftermath all over the news, and those got turned into propaganda to fuel recruitment for the war efforts. They razed cities, killing _hundreds of thousands_ of innocents before humanity got their shit together and fought them back with an organized force.

Once humanity got serious, they didn’t fare so well. It turned out that medieval-esque fantasy armies, equipped with bows and arrows, didn’t have a good answer to drone strikes and attack helicopters. And even the best archmages couldn’t conjure a shield capable of withstanding tank shells or sustained fifty caliber machinegun fire. They lost. They lost _hard_.

That all happened thirty years ago, well before this particular dark elf was even born. I doubted that would earn her any special treatment though. Many humans carried a special hated for dark elves to this day, they were brought up as a counter-argument whenever people objected to the inhumane treatment of slaves. Dark elves were pretty monsters, deserving the very worst tortures humanity had to offer.

I didn’t really have a strong opinion on them, though. All I knew was that she, personally, wasn’t one of the elves that tortured human civilians. I didn’t know what _other_ horrible crimes could have led her to this fate, but I still couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the poor thing.

The hopeless elf girl, lost in despair, clung to the bar and let her body relax and stretch out as the floor lowered. The metal floor reached the oil and sank in. So did the sobbing elf’s feet. Her eyes suddenly shot open.

 _“Aaaaaagh!”_ she screamed in agony.

Suddenly snapped out of her listless trance, her survival instincts kicked in. She pulled herself up, and tucked her knees in, keeping herself well clear of the boiling oil. Her feet had only been submerged for a second, but they continued to burn. I watched her purple-grey feet slowly turn red as the oil sizzled.

 _“Aaaagh!”_ she screamed again. _“Please Mercy! Please! Please!”_

Yeah that was enough, her howling agony snapped me out of my shocked daze. I wanted an elf, didn’t I? Here was an elf. Sure, I’d originally intended to get a _high_ elf rather than a dark elf, but this one was cute enough, desperate to live, and not too proud to beg. She _probably_ wouldn’t try to kill me in my sleep.

I held up my brass mercy token. “I’ll take her!” I called out.

The executioner hit the button. The platform raised back up. There were a couple disappointed grumbles in the audience. It seemed a few guys were eager to watch her painful death. Well sorry, they’d have to wait for the next dark elf victim to show up.

The elf didn’t notice the platform raising, lost as she was in her own little world of panic and pain. She continued to scream and cry, offering herself to the crowd in broken English, “Can use! _Can use fucking!_ Pussy! Ass! Is good hole! Warm soft! Is suck and choke. _Is no biting!_ ”

The oil had probably cooled enough for her feet to stop burning, but the pain was obviously still there. The cage door opened behind the elf. Her eyes rolled back, her arms trembling, desperately hanging on for her life. Right as the attendants went to grab her, she fainted, and fell back into their arms.

She woke up again seconds later, screaming and howling, thrashing desperately. It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn’t burning to death in oil. When she’d regained some of her sanity, a metal collar snapped around her neck, and the attendants led her down the stairs. She looked like she had no idea what was going on. She croaked and shivered in agony, forced by the attendants to walk on her burnt feet.

I made my way to the corner of the stage to pick up my new elf.

The elf was brought over to me. Every step was torture for her, the poor thing looked like she couldn’t even stand on her own. One attendant held each of her arms, keeping her from collapsing. She was trembling, eyes wide with panic. She saw me, dressed as I was in a robe and mask, and looked at me with primal terror, like I was just the next person in a long line of cruel tormentors.

“Your elf, sir,” one of the attendants said, taking the token and holding out the chain of her leash for me to grab.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’d like to buy a healing spell for her before I take her home, that was an option, right?”

“There will be a $50 surcharge for that, sir,” the attendant replied. “Shall we use the credit card on file?”

“Yes please.”

“Very well,” the attendant bowed. “Just have a seat somewhere, and we’ll have the healer come out to meet you. Did you want a paper copy of the receipt and slave deed, or would an email copy suffice?”

“Email is fine,” I replied.

“Very well,” the attendant said. “Please enjoy your new purchase.”

I grabbed the slave’s leash, and the attendants let her go. Without their support, she wobbled and collapsed to her knees in front of me. She stared up at my mask, tears in her eyes.

“M-mercy… please…” she whimpered.

“Yes, mercy,” I agreed, leaning down to pick her up.

She flinched, expecting pain. I gently lifted her arms, and put them behind my neck. Then, I scooped my hands under her butt and lifted her up.

 _“Eep!”_ she squeaked in surprise, and clung tightly to my neck, scared of being dropped.

She straddled my hips. With my hands beneath her thighs, I supported her weight. She continued to hold onto my neck as well, for stability. She barely weighed anything, she couldn’t have been much more than a hundred pounds. I found a quiet corner, far away from the other red robed people and the torture stage. I carried her to a small seating area, with some cozy couches. I picked a couch, and sat down, with my elf on my lap straddling me. Her red and blistered feet were hanging off the edge of the seat, to avoid touching anything with them.

She clung to me tightly, and buried her face against my neck.

“Please… mercy…” she whimpered.

“Yes, you get mercy,” I explained. “You’re my slave now, I bought you. You’re not going to be executed anymore.”

I gently patted her bare back, running a hand down her spine. She shivered under my touch, still obviously scared of me.

“Is give mercy?” she asked nervously. “Is no kill? Please?”

“Nope, not going to kill you.” I replied.

She moved her head back, trying to see through the slits in my mask, she was obviously skeptical, but I could see the tiniest little spark of hope in her eyes, “Kill… later?”

“Not later, not at all.” I replied, as gently and reassuringly as I could.

She sniffed back her tears, and gave me a nervous smile. “No kill…?” she repeated, probably not entirely sure she understood me.

“No kill,” I repeated.

She looked back over her shoulder, at her burned feet, and then back at me nervously, “Is big hurt?”

“Yeah, that looks like it hurts,” I said, a bit confused. “There should be a healer coming soon.”

The elf tried to understand my answer, and I could tell she was confused too. She pointed at me, and then at her foot. “Is… _Master_ big hurt?”

“I’m not hurt…” I replied, with confusion. “Oh wait, you’re asking if I’m going to hurt you?”

She cocked her head, like a confused puppy. She was trying her best, but there was still an obvious language barrier. I supposed it was a good thing she spoke English as well as she did. I didn’t know a single word of Abyssal Sylvan.

She nervously pointed to her foot again. “Big hurt,” she said.

She then reached behind, and lightly smacked herself on the butt, and gave me a nonchalant shrug implying she didn’t consider it to be a big deal, “Little hurt,” she explained.

Okay, so my best guess was that she was wondering whether I’d just horrifically torture her instead of killing her, merely making her _wish_ she was dead instead of ending it quickly. That was, unfortunately, a perfectly reasonable thing for a dark elven slave to expect from me, considering where I’d bought her.

“No, big hurt.” I said, as clearly as possible.

“Big hurt… later?” she asked nervously. She probably thought that not being killed or tortured to the point of insanity by me was simply too good to be true.

“Not later, no big hurt at all,” I said.

She gave me a relieved smile, and burrowed her face against my neck again.

“Please…” she whimpered.

“No kill, no big hurt.” I repeated.

The poor girl let herself go, and started openly sobbing into my shoulder. It was a real cry, with loud heaving sobs. The thick fabric of the red robe muffled her cries and soaked up her tears. I gently hugged her with both arms, stroking her back with my hand. We stayed like that for a few minutes, she crying, and me offering her what comfort I could.

“Master is mercy…” she sniffed.

“Merciful, master is merciful,” I corrected.

“Master is merciful,” she repeated.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your moment, but I believe you called for some healing?”

The man who spoke wore a mask and hooded robe like the rest of us, but his robe was white, with a green plus sign badge on his chest. The healer, obviously.

“Yes I did, thank you. Can you fix up my new slave?” I said, gesturing to her feet.

The slave in question squeezed me a little harder, obviously scared of this new human creeping up behind her.

“Just her feet?” the healer asked.

“Whatever you’re willing to do with the time you have for me, if you find something else to fix, then please do what you can,” I said.

The healer nodded, and closed his eyes. His hand glowed with golden light, and he placed a palm on the elf’s back. She squeaked in terror, and buried her face against my neck again.

“Hmm… she’s in rough shape,” the healer nodded, “Second degree burns to both feet. Scars from whip cuts, skewers, and red hot irons, old damage to ligaments in shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees, and hips… consistent with rack or wooden horse torture… muscle damage to pelvic floor and anal sphincter due to excessive insertion size… quite a lot of tearing inside, for obvious reasons. Fingernails have been removed and regrown… a few times… There’s much more too, that’s just scratching the surface.”

“Wow… you’ve been through a lot,” I muttered to the elf.

“Many many big hurt, long time, again and again,” she whimpered. “Is warn. Others watch big hurt, see blood, see burn… others obey.”

“Tortured, erm… big hurt as a warning to other slaves?” I asked.

“Yes Master,” the elf replied.

“Yes, that’s quite common actually. It’s a lot like what we do here. Show the slaves in training an example of how bad things can be, and most of the time they’ll be too scared to disobey. No need to punish them, beyond the occasional reminder. I suppose we could torture them all individually, give them a personal taste of hell, but that causes damage that requires expensive healing, and lowers the slave’s value if any scars are left behind. It’s better to just pick one of them to sacrifice, and make an example of. Usually the first slave in a cohort to act out gets chosen for the role. They’re tortured in front of the others, continuously, for the entire duration of the training, which can last for a year or more.”

“Wow, that’s pretty fucked up,” I said.

“That’s debatable, but let us avoid that debate. Now, about the healing… I should point out, the surcharge covers anything up to and including middle tier healing. I could fully restore the feet, and perhaps mitigate some of the other damage, but old, improperly healed damage will require a higher tier magical catalyst to restore.”

“Yikes, how much is that gonna cost?”

The healer sighed sympathetically, “Five hundred.”

“In addition to the fifty I’m already paying?” I asked.

“Erm… no, I guess it’ll be another four hundred and fifty then.”

“It’s like taking your car to a dealership… You go in for an oil change, and they end up replacing your brakes and timing belt,” I chuckled.

“Strictly speaking, none of the injuries are life threatening. The joint damage will make stress positions and endurance activities painful for the slave, which may or may not be a relevant factor for you. The muscle damage to the pelvis might concern you. It will make her vagina and anus… erm… _looser_ than they might otherwise be, but other than that, the damage and scarring is purely cosmetic.”

“Please…” the elf whimpered into my shoulder. “Please no kill… is no loose… can use… is make good squeeze…”

“No kill,” I repeated, patting the elf on the head. I glanced at the healer and sighed, “A thousand bucks for an elf slave is still a good deal. I’ll get the full healing package.”

“Very well,” the healer said. “Please continue to keep your slave still. A Greater Restoration should take about fifteen minutes to cast.”

“Great,” I said. “Okay then… elf… the healer is going to heal all your wounds, so be good okay?”

“Is be good, is obey, always,” the elf replied, her voice still muffled from my robe.

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

“Name?” the elf asked, confused.

“You don’t know that word?” I asked I turned to the healer, “Don’t suppose you speak dark elf?”

The healer was focused on preparing his spell, but said something in a strange, guttural language, not at all beautiful like the singsong high elven tongue. The elf stared at the healer in surprise, and then looked to me.

“Is… Nimneth,” the elf said.

“David,” I said.

“David Master?” Nimneth asked.

“You can call me, Master, or Master David,” I said.

“Master David,” the elf repeated.

“I’ll call you Nim for short,” I said.

“Nim,” she repeated.

“So how did you get picked as the warning, Nim? The one to big-hurt?”

“How did?” Nim asked, not understanding.

The healer helpfully said something in Abyssal Sylvan, translating my question, I assumed.

“Is stupid…” the elf mumbled reluctantly. “Is _big_ stupid… _big big_ stupid…”

“Go on,” I said.

“Is bite,” she squeaked pathetically. “Human test obeying. Cock go face-pussy… obeying… but is choke… is no breathe… is scare. Munch! Big bite. Stupid. Human anger.”

“You bit someone’s dick?” I asked. “Yeah, that would piss a trainer off.”

“Please…” the elf whimpered. “Is stupid, but learn. No bite. Suck, choke, no breathe then is sleep, but no bite.”

Was I understanding that right? She’d rather pass out from lack of air than bite me? I don’t know whether to feel reassured, or just feel guilty that she’s _that_ scared of displeasing me.

“Okay, I believe you.”

There was another gold shimmer from behind the elf, as the healer activated his spell. Nim let out a shocked squeak, and her whole body tensed. She hugged me tighter. She took a few deep breaths and then settled back down, relaxing again.

“Hurts?” I asked.

“Is little hurt, no big hurt.” she replied.

“Good, then endure it, okay?” I said.

“Yes Master,” she replied.

Nim quieted down, snuggling into me as the healing magic progressed through her body. I watched the effects with curiosity.

The feet were the first to get healed. The blistered, red flesh slowly smoothed out and turned a grey-purple. In a human that would have been alarming, like flesh turning necrotic, or going blue from lack of air or circulation. In a dark elf though, purple meant healthy. Weird.

Next up were all of the crisscrossing whip lines along the back of her body. Most of it was concentrated on her back, butt, and thighs. The scar tissue was white, or a pale grey. Unlike healthy flesh it was completely desaturated, colorless. As the healing fixed all her scars, I realized her purplish-grey skin was actually more of a greyish-purple. A lot of the grey colour I originally saw was actually just pure scar tissue.

Soon enough, her skin was all pristine again. I thought she was cute before, but now I realized just how cute she truly was. Compared to before, she was absolutely _vibrant_. There was quite a lot left to fix on the inside, however. I couldn’t watch what was going on, but healing the inside actually took more time than the outside. It was another ten minutes before the healer was satisfied that she’d fully recovered. Just as healthy, and erm… _tight_ … as before.

When the healer was finished, I thanked him and let him go. I gave my slave a gentle pat on the back.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“Yes Master,” the slave mumbled into my shoulder.

I waited, but she made no effort to move off me, staying exactly where she was.

“Comfy?” I asked.

“Yes Master,” she said. Then, after a pause she added, “Master is good smell.”

“Thanks,” I laughed. “So, do you want to leave this horrible place?”

“Yes Master.”

I gently spanked her on the butt, “Then you need to get off me.”

“Yes Master,” she mumbled, a hint of reluctance in her tone.

She took a final, deep lungful of me-smell, and then climbed off my lap. She gently touched her feet to the floor, testing for pain, I supposed. When she realized she wasn’t hurt anymore, she smiled and straightened up. She grabbed the chain leash attached to her collar, and held it out for me to grab. I stood, and took the leash she offered.

“Now, let’s get out of here and never come back,” I said.

“Yes Master,” Nim replied happily.

In some ways this whole experience was way more fucked up than I expected, but I was more than happy with the result. Nim was a little bit broken, but she was still a good girl. I was sure we would get along great.


End file.
